


All Our Little Secrets

by airblends



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: And Lots of It, Confessions, Falling In Love, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Horrible Cum Puns, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Multiple Universes, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Sexual Content, Some IwaOi Cameos, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:18:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 12,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5819311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airblends/pseuds/airblends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of little MatsuHana ficlets in mostly unchronological order. Snippets from Hanamaki and Matsukawa's lives; first loves, first kisses, hellos and goodbyes, and everything in between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dec. 28

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be updating this pretty irregularly, just a little heads up. Whenever I feel like writing a short little something, it's gonna go up on my [tumblr](http://airblends.tumblr.com/) first and I'll be adding it on here once I get around to it. I'll be mainly using this as an outlet for random bursts of inspiration and to practice my writing. (I'm going to warn for any possible triggers and nsfw for each drabble individually so you can choose to skip stuff that makes you uncomfortable in any way!)

 

Oikawa looks so warm and at peace clinging to Iwaizumi’s arm, their hands obviously linked where they’re shoved down Iwaizumi’s coat pocket. It looks so easy, _just_ _take your friend’s hand and hold it all the way home, what’s the big deal?_

A few steps behind them, Hanamaki blows semi-warm air into his palms to keep them from freezing. The sky’s dark and dotted with stars, his breath billowing before him in little clouds as he makes his way home after practice, Matsukawa trailing after him.

Hanamaki tells himself he isn’t jealous when Oikawa leans down close enough for his and Iwaizumi’s noses to brush, both a little red from the chilly December air. Iwaizumi has the nerve to _smile_ at him. Hanamaki scoffs. Nu-uh. He’d rather lick an icicle than do that kind of sappy couple stuff with—

“Are you cold?”

The question catches Hanamaki off guard and he stumbles over his own feet, sure that he’ll be a few bruises richer within a few milliseconds’ time when a strong hand grabs his bicep and holds on, pulls him into the opposite direction and has him bump into something soft and familiar with gentle force.

Hanamaki’s heart rate seems to have doubled, his blood rushing to his face at what feels like the speed of light. When he dares look up he stares right into a pair of dazzling blue eyes, starlight reflecting in them. Matsukawa gazes down at him with an unreadable expression on his face, but then a smile spreads over his lips, sparking warmth inside Hanamaki’s chest.

“You okay? Didn’t think I’d scare you this much,” Matsukawa teases, his voice laced with something Hanamaki can’t quite define. He does realize that his friend’s arms are still wrapped around his torso though. He doesn’t mention it. No, Hanamaki wants to say something cool and laid-back like “Psht, as if!”, but what bubbles out sounds more like “Well, duh? You better hold my hand to make up for it?!”

It takes Hanamaki all of three seconds to register what he’s just said, and he gets the irrepressible urge to dig a hole and bury himself right where he stands without another word.

Matsukawa just stares at him in disbelief before he cracks up with laughter, letting go of him to cover his mouth with his hands.

“Don’t laugh at me, asshole,” Hanamaki mutters weakly, ears burning, stomach twisting in embarrassment.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Matsukawa softens his tone, the grin still prominent on his irritatingly handsome face. He reaches out for Hanamaki, seeks out his right hand, and takes it, his slim fingers fitting perfectly between Hanamaki’s own. They’re warm, so warm.

“You could’ve just asked, you know?” Matsukawa says, failing to hide the pink tint to his own cheeks as they start walking again, falling into step with each other like it’s the easiest thing in the world — and maybe it is.

“Mh,” Hanamaki says, squeezing his friend’s fingers. It’s so nice to feel them curled against the back of his hand, sharing warmth. Hanamaki’s chest tightens. He wouldn’t mind doing this more often, no matter what time of year, no matter if it’s cold or hot or everything in between.

Just the feel of Matsukawa’s hand in his; he imagines them entwined against the cold, on the grass behind the school, under a table, on the train. He holds on to this thought while they catch up with their friends, walking in comfortable silence.

 

When it’s time to part ways, Matsukawa’s hand lingers a little longer than necessary. He sends a shy smile over to Hanamaki, his fingers toying with the zipper of his jacket.

“Thanks,” Hanamaki says, guessing that’s what he’s supposed to say. “Um …” he adds hesitantly, chancing another look at those blue eyes.

“Yeah?” Matsukawa’s voice carries surprise, but there’s something else, Hanamaki realizes. _Hope?_

“Pick me up for school tomorrow?”

“Can I hold your hand again?”

Hanamaki grins. “Absolutely.”


	2. Jan. 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little nsfw! Kneesocks are involved. Makki is thirsty.

Hanamaki walks into the apartment unsuspecting and innocent.

Because it’s unusually quiet he assumes that Matsukawa’s asleep, so he toes his shoes off soundlessly and opens the door to their shared bedroom carefully so he wouldn’t wake him.

What he lays his eyes on isn’t at all what he expected, though. Hanamaki’s fingers tighten around the doorknob.

Matsukawa’s always had a knack for being accidentally sexy, but _this_ — this can’t be a coincidence. There’s no way he has looked at himself in a mirror and thought that Hanamaki wouldn’t be affected by this. There’s no way he hadn’t been aware of what he’d do to Hanamaki by presenting himself to him like this.

Matsukawa’s sprawled out on the bed on his stomach, very much awake and reading a volleyball magazine. That’s not the problem. What has Hanamaki’s breath catch in his throat and his heart skip a beat is what he’s _wearing_.

A baggy sweater with a silly print, okay. But his legs — his fucking legs — The thin, black fabric of his socks doesn’t stop at his ankles but goes up to hug his strong calves and dig a little into the softer skin right over his knee. He isn’t wearing pants, just a pair of underwear that might be a size too small. His thighs are bare.

“Holy shit.”

Matsukawa looks up and over at Hanamaki, apparently clueless as to why his boyfriend is staring at him open-mouthed from his spot by the door. “Hey,” he says, closing his magazine. He sits up on the bed, turning slightly to face him.

Hanamaki drops his bag, peels himself out of his jacket and drops that too, then he strides over to the bed and all but throws himself at Matsukawa.

Matsukawa catches him with a muffled oomph as Hanamaki jumps onto his lap, the bed frame creaking dangerously.

“Holy shit,” Hanamaki says again. Then he kisses Matsukawa, once, twice, three times, until he can’t breathe. He brings his hands up to cup Matsukawa’s face, to feel the soft wisps of hair tickle his skin when he leans in one more time for another brush of lips.

“Hello to you too,” Matsukawa laughs when they separate. “What’s with the sudden attack though? Is it our anniversary or something?”

Hanamaki stares at him, incredulous. “Are you serious? Have you seen yourself?” He gestures at Matsukawa’s legs.

“Oh, those? I didn’t even know I still had them, I put them on for fun but I guess there might be certain … benefits to wearing knee socks more often,” Matsukawa quips.

“Oh, there are plenty,” Hanamaki replies with a wicked grin. “Want me to show you?”

He doesn’t have to ask twice.

 

From then on, Hanamaki remembers fragments.

The feeling of warm, trembling skin against his fingertips as he trails them up and down Matsukawa’s thighs, his legs hitched over Hanamaki’s shoulders.

The moans tumbling from Matsukawa’s mouth when he kisses and bites at the sensitive flesh, making sure he doesn’t forget a single inch.

The searing heat of their next kiss, when they’re wrapped around each other in a press of skin against skin, no fiber of fabric separating them. Even the knee socks land on the floor, Hanamaki’s fingers having pulled them off with great enjoyment.

Gentle words of praise that contrast the high pitched whines and creaks of the bed springs, and the hand that finds Hanamaki’s and tangles their fingers together.

The laughter bubbling up from Matsukawa’s throat when Hanamaki accidentally tickles him and they have to stop for him to calm down.

The feeling of being connected in more ways than one, of being able to feel every twitch, every heartbeat.

The gradual buildup of tingling tension, and then the mind-numbing explosion of pleasure that leaves him lightheaded and sweaty and completely blissed out.

And then there are the loving kisses pressed against Hanamaki’s shoulders, his neck, his cheeks and finally his lips, soft and full of affection.

They stay curled up together for the rest of the evening, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears, perfectly content with letting the minutes tick by slowly, one by one.

While he lets a strong, steady heartbeat lull him to sleep, Hanamaki can’t help but think that having Matsukawa by his side is pretty fucking great.

 

 


	3. Jan. 16

 

 

It has to be today.

Hanamaki’s heart aches as he walks down the familiar hallways of his high school one last time, his steps brisk, and his fingers sweaty around the single button trapped between them. It has to be today, this is his only chance.

He passes his locker on the way to the auditorium, and he thinks of the many times they’d met up there to go to practice together or to exchange school books or to laugh about a joke one of them had come up with during class. He thinks about Matsukawa’s smile, and how it lit up the entire room. His heart clenches when he realizes he might not see it again if he screws this up.

The button feels too hot against his palm, but he holds on tightly as he rounds the corner, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

The auditorium is decorated generously, pretty flower bouquets in teal and white and cream framing the stage where he had stood only minutes earlier, where he had received his leaving certificate and a hearty applause from the audience along with his classmates.

He wishes he had paid more attention to where his friends had stood when they had thrown up their peace signs and clapped for him, because now that the entire year has dispersed into little groups scattered around the school building and the grounds he has lost sight of them.

He scans the crowd, looking for that shock of messy black curls that he’d made fun of for three long years, the word cute always at the back of his throat.

First, he sees Oikawa, surrounded by a group of girls, with Iwaizumi keeping an eye on the whole situation from a few feet away. Hanamaki grins, because for this one fleeting moment it doesn’t feel like the end at all. Nothing has changed yet.

He gets up on his tiptoes to get a better view — Matsukawa can’t be far now.

He spots him at the far back of the room, talking to one of his classmates. There’s a moment of hesitation, but then Hanamaki swallows the lump in his throat and starts walking again, starts making his way through the throng of people.

When he reaches his friend he’s a little out of breath, and at a loss for words. He had planned this in his head, at night in the comfort of his bedroom, but now that he’s actually going to go through with it he’s completely lost.

“Hey,” he says weakly.

“Hey yourself,” Matsukawa replies, a grin on his lips. His dark eyes are warm and inviting. “Where have you been? I swear, I turned around for one second and you were gone.”

Hanamaki gulps, reaching for the hem of Matsukawa’s sleeve with his free hand. “I …” he begins, tugging lightly on the smooth fabric.

“You…?”

“Fuck you,” Hanamaki says, his lip trembling. “Give me your hand, idiot.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, because he thinks he might die if Matsukawa said no, so he takes the initiative and grabs his friend’s hand.

A noise of surprise leaves Matsukawa’s mouth as Hanamaki turns his palm up and drops the button into his hand. Then he closes his fingers around it gently and lets go, eyes dropping to his feet. “There.”

“What…?” Matsukawa’s voice is quiet and a little raspy as he undoubtedly stares at the button.

Hanamaki’s heart feels like it’s going to climb up his throat and jump out of his mouth any second now. “I like you,” he splutters, barely more than a whisper.

When there’s no answer after several seconds, Hanamaki looks up, heart racing, prepared for everything — rejection, laughter, confusion — everything but _this_.

There’s a hand on this jaw, lifting his head, and then there are lips on his, chaste and dry, and their noses bump a little awkwardly. The kiss lasts only a moment before Matsukawa backs up, face flushed. Then he utters one single word.

“Same.”

Hanamaki stares, dumbfounded, until something clicks in his brain. “Oh my god. Oh my god, you asshole, you didn’t—“ He starts laughing, the sound bubbling up from the bottom of his lungs, and suddenly he feels weightless.

He pulls Matsukawa down by the front of his shirt, brings them back together, and he kisses the words _you loser_ against his lips, and _I like you_ , over and over. Matsukawa smiles into the kiss, his arms coming around Hanamaki’s waist to pull him closer.

Hanamaki knows people must be staring because they’re still in the middle of their graduation party, but right now? Right now he really couldn’t care less.

 

 


	4. Feb. 02

 

Issei finds him in the dark, sitting alone on a deserted staircase leading to the second floor.

Hanamaki’s eyes are downcast, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Shoulders hunched, he looks small, a ray of moonlight painting part of his hair a cool silver. _Pretty_ is one of the words that shoots through Issei’s head when he takes a step towards his best friend.

“Hey,” he says into the still air, voice mellow. The dull beat of the music carries over from the main floor, interrupting the quiet. “What are you doing here, all alone?”

“Nothing,” comes Hanamaki’s answer, low and without eye contact. He picks at a piece of loose skin on his finger, wincing as the skin tears. Something tight winds itself around Issei’s chest and ties up his throat. Hanamaki’s never kept quiet about anything, not to him, so seeing him all withdrawn makes his heart constrict painfully.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. He sits down next to his friend, keeping a respectful distance so he wouldn’t invade his personal space.

“It’s okay to say no, but can I ask what happened?” All Issei remembers is dancing, a silly choreography of outdated dance moves and carefree arm flapping, laughter, exuberant and light. He remembers feeling warm and happy, he remembers Hanamaki’s smile, brighter than the sun. Then Hanamaki’s disappearance, sudden, without warning.

“I hate them,” is all Hanamaki says, bitterness bleeding into his voice.

“Who?” Issei asks carefully.

“Oikawa and Iwaizumi. I hate them. I hate them so much, and I know that’s unwarranted, but I can’t change my feelings, okay?”

Issei takes a deep breath as he processes what Hanamaki’s just said. He’s never shown anything but fond exasperation at Oikawa’s antics and admiration for Iwaizumi. This feels a little out of character.

“Why?”

“Because,” Hanamaki grits out, voice cracking, “they have everything I want and I have nothing.”

“You don’t—” Issei protests, but he’s cut short.

“Shut up!”

Issei flinches at the harshness in Hanamaki’s voice, feels something icy puncture his chest. Hanamaki would never say that to him and mean it. Except right now he does, and it hurts, like a blow to the gut, a slap in the face.

“Sorry,” is Hanamaki’s next word, mumbled into the space between his bent knees. “You should go.”

Frantically racking his brain for soothing words, Issei finds himself gaping, his fingers twitching in a fruitless attempt at deciding whether to touch Hanamaki or not. Leaving isn’t an option to him, never was. He keeps quiet, listening to his friend’s breathing until he realizes that it’s irregular and ragged. His breath keeps hitching, a sound Issei has never wanted to hear again since the Inter High preliminaries. Tension coils in his stomach, worry eating at him, screaming at him to do something, anything.

“Will you look at me?” he asks gently, hoping he isn’t intruding on something so private Hanamaki will shut him out completely. A broken sob falls from Hanamaki’s mouth as he looks up to meet Issei’s gaze in the dark. His eyes are red rimmed and tear stains mark his round cheeks. He looks nothing like himself.

“Hey,” Issei breathes, scooting over so he can pull Hanamaki into a tight embrace. “It’s okay. I’m here. Tell me when you’re ready, yeah?” He strokes his thumb gently over Hanamaki’s shoulder, rubbing warmth into his skin.

Hanamaki sags against Issei, all of his weight falling onto him, but he holds him tight against his chest, burying his nose in the soft wisps of hair on top of Hanamaki’s head. Issei lets him breathe for a moment, allowing him to sort his thoughts.

Finally, Hanamaki sits up, sniveling a little when they lock eyes. “I can’t tell you, not right now anyway. I need some time. Are you okay with that?” he manages, rubbing angrily at his red face. Issei doesn’t miss the way he reaches for his hand and he reaches out in turn before he can pull back, closing his fingers around Hanamaki’s cold ones.

“Of course,” he says. A tiny smile appears on Hanamaki’s lips at that and he squeezes Issei’s fingers lightly.

“Thank you.”

They don’t go back to the party after that, instead Issei stays by Hanamaki’s side, telling him joke after joke until he’s laughing again, leaning against him. Their fingers stay twined the entire time, but neither of them mentions it.

They’ll talk about it when the time comes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find a continuation to this drabble in chapter 7!


	5. Feb. 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February 14, aka the Valentine's Day drabble. This is mildly nsfw, and was inspired by [horizon-ae](http://horizon-ae.tumblr.com/)'s beautiful [matsuhana art](http://horizon-ae.tumblr.com/post/137634260030/feb-14)!

 

Soft lips are on Takahiro’s neck before he can fully close the door to his room.

“Ah, Issei …” Takahiro breathes into the warming air as they stumble through the gloom of the late evening, curtains drawn and the lights off. “You’re gonna get the chocolate everywhere …”

Issei chuckles against his skin, the sweet smell of matcha chocolates filling Takahiro’s nose. “This is your own fault for givin’ them to me,” he sighs contentedly while he pulls his boyfriend of several months along with him. Even in the dark he finds his way because he has memorized every corner of Takahiro’s room from the countless hours they’ve spent there together, even before they realized they’d been walking the line between _just friends_ and something more for far too long. “You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted you to myself all day, Hiro.”

At that Takahiro feels arousal pooling warm in the pit of his stomach, and he swallows around a needy whine when Issei detaches himself from his neck to manoever them around the room. In a dance of tangled limbs they stagger forward, giggles escaping both of them, until Takahiro feels the backs of his knees hit the edge of his bed and he collapses on the mattress, Issei tumbling down with him and landing on top of him.

His eyes have adjusted to the darkness by now, and Takahiro can see Issei’s face hovering above his, his eyes smiling and his lips pink and slightly parted.

“I love you,” Takahiro says softly, because it’s the only thing that comes to mind. Issei kisses the spot behind Takahiro’s ear that he knows he likes, eliciting a pleasant shiver, and his lips graze his earlobe when he returns the words to him, each syllable dripping sweetness.

“You want it?” he whispers, arms gently wrapping around Takahiro.

“I want _you,_ ” comes Takahiro’s reply, a little breathless with anticipation, his skin tingling all over. Issei’s features soften as he pulls him closer, until their noses brush, a silky  _okay_  leaving his lips before he covers Takahiro’s own with them. Takahiro’s eyes flutter shut, the rich taste of dark chocolate flooding his senses as Issei kisses him deeply, a low sort of groan rumbling in his chest as his hands worm their way under his sweater.

Their shirts and the rest of their clothes come off slowly, unhurriedly, allowing for more skin contact, and it sets Takahiro’s insides on fire with bliss to be able to feel Issei’s body warm and heavy against him, to be able to feel how much he wants him too. His hands cup Issei’s face, thumbs stroking gently over his cheeks while he marvels at how lucky he is to have him.

“Don’t get all sentimental now,” Issei teases, but his eyes are half-lidded and glowing, giving him away. “You ready for your return gift?”

Takahiro snorts softly and jabs his boyfriend’s side playfully, but he keeps him close enough to feel his laugh ripple through his body when he fits himself perfectly between Takahiro’s thighs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Issei whispers, and then he leans back down to kiss him again


	6. Feb. 25

 

Taking photos of his friends and teammates has always been a thing Hanamaki does without much thought. A snapshot here, another there, blurry group pictures from tournaments taken in the spur of the moment.

He’s never paid much attention to anyone in particular, viewed each picture as a whole instead of the individual parts, until he lies in bed one evening, lazily scrolling through his camera roll, and _stopping._

What catches his eye is a shot of Iwaizumi and Oikawa, sweaty and grinning, but that isn’t what makes his heart pound. In the back of the picture, casually leaning against the wall, is Matsukawa, his gaze lingering on something he can’t see. Hanamaki exhales, bringing the screen closer to his face. In profile, Matsukawa’s strong jaw and cheek bones stand out prettily, and even though the image quality isn’t the best, the thin screen of sweat is visible enough to make his skin glow.  

Matsukawa had never struck him as particularly photogenic before, but he can see it right there, that he’s got _something_. Something that makes his fingers itch and his skin tingle with the need to see it again.

Days come and go, turn into weeks and to months, and Hanamaki finds himself getting really good at taking candids of his best friend. Sometimes he gets caught in the act and it derails into play fights for his phone, but it’s always in good fun. Matsukawa never asks for the reason he likes photographing him so much, and that’s just fine with Hanamaki.

It’s interesting too, getting to review his results in the evening, smiling, giggling sometimes, but most of all yearning for a chance to have Matsukawa pose for him. Over time he accumulates a great assortment of beautiful pictures, but the more familiar he gets with his features, the way his lips move when he talks, how his eyes dart across the room in search for someone, the more Hanamaki begins to doubt his own motives.

Is it the simple joy of capturing something pretty that has him whip out his phone after class, between breaks, on the way home after practice when the world is dipped into the colors of the sunset, or is it something else, something he doesn’t dare voice aloud?

Maybe in the beginning it was his friend’s aesthetic appeal that piqued his interest, but at some point that innocent infatuation turned into a feeling of incompletion. When Hanamaki pores over his picture gallery now, the photos don’t seem quite right. Matsukawa is still as striking as before, but somehow an essential part is missing. There’s too much background, too many blank spaces, and Hanamaki spends hours contemplating his problem, until it clicks.

It’s a rosy spring day when he opens his camera app to take a photo of Matsukawa under the cherry blossoms, petals nestled into tangled black locks, when he finally accepts what his heart has been telling him all along — that _he_ should fill in those gaps, and the butterflies in his stomach multiply tenfold as he lowers his phone to meet a pair of blue eyes from across the sidewalk.

“Hey,” he says eventually, “wanna take a picture under that tree?” He points at the cherry blossoms fluttering through the air, grinning as one catches in Matsukawa’s bushy eyebrow.

“For your collection?”

“Ah, not quite. I wanna try something different today.” Hanamaki says, relieved when Matsukawa nods his okay and follows him.

They end up sitting on the roots of the tree, light filtering through the branches and dappling their skin. Hanamaki feels little chills running along his skin when Matsukawa’s arm comes around his back to bring them closer for the picture.

“What do you want me to do?” Matsukawa asks, leaning down to meet his eyes, and Hanamaki shivers at how soft his voice sounds so close to his ears.

“You can do whatever I guess? You always look good,” Hanamaki blurts out, stomach dipping at how Matsukawa’s pupils seem to widen.

“Okay.”

When Hanamaki lifts his phone and angles it slightly downwards, Matsukawa inches a little closer still, a warm weight settling against Hanamaki’s side, and he takes a deep breath with his finger hovering over the shutter release button. Right when he taps it, he feels chapped lips on his cheek, the touch fleeting, but enough to send color blooming across his face.

“What was that?” he asks breathlessly, wide eyes on Matsukawa’s a little above him.

“You said to do whatever,” comes Matsukawa’s answer, and Hanamaki doesn’t miss the way his neck is flushed red.

“I obviously didn’t mean _that_ but … I like your whatever. It’s not exactly the right pose though …” Hanamaki says, pretending to stroke his invisible beard as his lips spread into a wide grin.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Maybe something like this,” Hanamaki says, heart thrumming in his chest when he lifts his phone a second time and leans up to meet Matsukawa for a kiss on the lips.

 

 

 


	7. Feb. 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a follow-up to chapter 4! (You might want to reread that one for the full effect, but this can be read on its own as well.)

 

“They’re doing it again.”

The second Issei hears those words he knows he wasn’t meant to. He swings around to catch a sliver of gray, Hanamaki’s eyes dark in the milky light filtering through dirtied windows. Hanamaki bites tentatively into his onigiri, only to put it back into his bento.

Issei pulls his chair over and sits down by Hanamaki’s side. “Who’s doing what again?” A sense of foreboding overcomes him as Hanamaki’s eyes widen and he pales. So Issei was right, he shouldn’t have heard. Anxiety collects in his throat like thick mucus, keeping his words locked up.

Hanamaki looks like he hasn’t slept in days; his voice is rough when he speaks. “Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Look.” Hanamaki points over at the door, where Iwaizumi has just appeared to meet up with Oikawa. Iwaizumi says something that warrants an indignant squawk from Oikawa, but then they exchange tender smiles and Oikawa steps towards him, leaning down to brush a kiss against Iwaizumi’s lips. Someone _oohh_ s, someone else tells them to get a room. Iwaizumi blushes. Oikawa kisses him again.

Issei glances back at Hanamaki, whose expression has gone very gloomy. Issei fidgets a little in his chair. That’s how their friends always act, there’s nothing out of the ordinary about it. Something at the back of his mind tells him that this is linked to something more than simple irritation with public displays of affection.

“Takahiro,” Issei says softly, quietly so no one else can hear, “what’s this about?”

Hanamaki’s eyes lock onto his half eaten lunch as he mumbles out his answer. “I’m so tired of them acting all happy and cute. I hate it. I hate it so much, it makes me sick.”

Issei winces. “You wanna talk about it?”

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Hanamaki says darkly, his tone so uncharacteristically sour it makes Issei’s chest tighten. His mind rewinds to their exchange back at the party a few weeks prior, and as he remembers the tears that ran down Hanamaki’s face he is overwhelmed by an incredible need to wrap his arms around his best friend.

“You don’t know that yet. Come on, talk to me. If there’s anything I can do I will do it.”

“It took me a long time to realize, you know. That what I was feeling all this time was jealousy. I’m jealous, Matsu,” Hanamaki says. Issei swallows, taking in the new information with some difficulty. A subtle but distinct stinging goes through his chest, as if the jealousy Hanamaki had just brought up had manifested itself in Issei’s chest.

He’s careful when he asks, “Do you … do you like one of them? Is it Iwaizumi?”

An expression so foreign that Issei can’t place it washes over Hanamaki’s face. “What? Oh, no. I do like someone though,” he mutters, his voice climbing down to a whisper, “and I know they don’t like me back. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are just rubbing salt into the wound. I told you it’s stupid.”   
Issei’s heart feels five times heavier than it should when he begins to think about it. Hanamaki _likes_ someone. That alone is enough to make his stomach churn and twist. Something about it makes Issei wish he never approached Hanamaki about the matter, he feels like he shouldn’t know this.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are still standing in the door, arms wrapped loosely around each other as they talk quietly, gentle laughter carrying over to where Issei sits.

Hanamaki’s eyes are glassy as he stares out the window, his hands balled into fists in his lap and his lips pressed into a thin line like he’s holding back tears. Issei can’t take it, refuses to let him cry again, so he gets up and holds out his hand.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Hanamaki blinks at him for a second, his bottom lip trembling. He gives him a wobbly smile, trying too hard to make it look like he’s fine to make it credible, but he stands, allowing Issei to twine their fingers.

“Thanks,” he says. Then, slowly, he adds, “If I offer to treat you to a snack from the cafeteria, can we talk about something else?”

Issei’s heart aches at the obvious discomfort and insecurity in his friend’s voice, but if this is what he wants, how can he say no?

“Sure. This is my treat though.”

Hanamaki smiles again, more genuinely this time, before he nudges his shoulder gently and lets himself be pulled along.

 


	8. Mar. 08

 

“Issei, can you help me with my tie? My fingers won’t stop shaking, it’s driving me nuts.”

Issei, still in the middle of fixing his cuff links, blinks over at his friend. Takahiro has crammed himself in between the door and his wardrobe to use the only full length mirror in the room, spine bent at an awkward angle and tongue poking out between his lips. Issei bites the inside of his cheek; even like that, the simple black suit Takahiro picked out for today fits him like a second skin, accentuating his slender waist and long legs.

It takes him a moment to remember what’s been asked of him, but then he strides over to pluck the velvet tie from Takahiro’s struggling fingers, smiling.

“That nervous?” he teases, undoing the knot with ease, “If I didn’t know better I’d assume this is  _your_  wedding instead of Tooru and Hajime’s.”

“How am I supposed to not be nervous? This is an important day — our best friends are getting married, and we’re the best men. What if I fuck up the speech? You know I can’t talk in front of big audiences.”

Issei loops the tie into a neat cascade of shiny fabric. “I’ll be right there beside you, no need to be afraid. You got this.” He smooths his hands down Takahiro’s chest, warmth tickling his palms and inviting him to linger. “You should probably zip up your fly before you go on stage though,” he says, cracking up laughing when Takahiro freezes, ears burning bright red, only to find out that his fly’s been zipped properly all along.

“Asshole, don’t scare me like that! I hope your dance partner steps on your toes extra hard.” Takahiro pouts. Issei thinks that he’s unfairly cute.

“Why don’t you make sure the deed gets done yourself?” he blurts.

“What? How?”

“Dance with me. Step on my toes all you want, flyweight.”

Takahiro _blushes_ , but Issei can’t tell if it’s because he’s offended or flustered. His answer is delayed too, but then there’s a tentative hand on his waist and sweaty fingers curling against Issei’s left palm. Takahiro looks up at him, a stuttered “okay” leaving his lips. The sound is soft, sending chills down Issei’s spine.

“Oh,” he breathes, “I didn’t mean _now_ , but that’s also fine with me.” He catches a whiff of something sweet and floral, Takahiro’s cologne. The scent is light and unobtrusive, noticeable only from up close. He takes a deep breath, nose brushing Takahiro’s ear. “I can’t dance, by the way,” he warns.

“Me neither, obviously,” Takahiro replies as he expertly puts a foot on Issei’s, a puff of air wafting against his skin.

“Maybe it’s better we’re not in public,” Issei chuckles, and then he starts swaying them to the rhythm of an inaudible tune, humming along to a melody inside his head. Takahiro lets him have the lead, resting his head on Issei’s shoulder. He’s warm against Issei’s chest, every breath rising and falling against him, the quiet of the room encasing them like a blanket made of milky sunlight. He seems to calm down a little, heartbeat slowing.

Issei glances at the clock, realizing they’re running out of time. A thought flashes through his mind, a risky idea, a question, but Takahiro beats him to it.

“This feels nice,” he whispers, lips moving against Issei’s neck. “It’s a shame we have to leave in like, five minutes.”

“We can dance all night if you want,” Issei says in a fit of courage.

Takahiro lifts his head and smiles, eyes shining. “I’d like that.”

* * *

Later that night, long after Tooru and Hajime have left the party for their honeymoon vacation, Issei has his arms wrapped around Takahiro’s waist as they sway gently to a love song, and it comes with a tiny kiss pressed to Issei’s neck that Takahiro tells him a secret.

And Issei, heart flipping like crazy in his chest, pulls him closer and kisses his answer into Takahiro’s mouth.

 


	9. Mar. 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after graduation, right before the start of university. Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Matsukawa and Hanamaki take a trip to the ocean.

 

Waves lap at the fine sand between Takahiro’s curled toes, the ocean whispering to him in a language as mysterious as it is calming. Shadows dance over the ground, palm tree shaped ghosts that meet the sea at midnight like secret lovers, and the wind an invisible guardian watching over them.

Cicadas click and sing where they’ve taken shelter for the night, in stalks of grass and on trees and bushes, and Takahiro closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. With each inhale he tastes salt on the back of his tongue, the cool air breathing life into his city lungs.

Coming out here was a good idea. With the rest of his friends asleep, back at the hotel, he feels like the beach belongs to him alone just for tonight.

The moon shines bright in the clear, cloudless sky, stars sprinkled across deep navy blue. Eyes following the up and down of their reflections on the waves, Takahiro sits down in the sand, feels it tickling his palms. He lets his gaze wander across the horizon, a blurry line in the distance feeding into the darkness of the night.

Letting himself wallow in quiet solitude, Takahiro’s mind slips into a state of immobility, drifting around one and the same thing. A sigh slips from his mouth and sails away on the seaside breeze. Knees pulled up to his chest, he rocks gently back and forth with the push and pull of the ocean.

All sense of time escapes him under the blanket of the night sky, and it feels like hours pass before he takes note of the soft crunch of naked feet in the sand, until he feels a presence close by, familiar, radiating warmth.

“Thought I’d find you here,” comes a voice like smoke and cinders.

 Issei. 

“What are you up to?”

“Just thinking,” Takahiro says, patting the spot beside him, a silent invitation. If there’s anyone he’d want to share this moment with, it’s Issei.

Issei sits down, knee brushing Takahiro’s thigh. He gives a little chuckle. “Didn’t take you for the philosopher type.”

“Didn’t take _you_ for the nosy type.”

“You live and learn.”

“Touché.”

Takahiro elbows him in the side, the laughter erupting from Issei’s throat lighting fires in his chest, flames licking at his heart.

“Why did you come out here?”

Issei shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“I see.”

They sit in silence for a long while, both keeping their thoughts to themselves. Takahiro takes in the view and the proximity to the person he’s undoubtedly going to miss the most once morning dawns and lifts the spell of the ultramarine night.

Only then does he gain full awareness of the volatility of school friendships, and how change is inevitably coming his way with universities pulling them all into different corners of the country.

He watches Issei’s fingers draw pictures in the sand, a cloud, a wave, a bird. He strokes his palm across them and they’re gone again. He starts from the beginning, creating tiny works of art.

Takahiro exhales. Inhales. “Do you ever wonder what could have been? If you hadn’t been scared to death by the thought of making a mistake?”

It takes a while for Issei to reply.

“Yeah,” he says eventually. His hands still. “You?”

“Yeah.”

The words hang between them, heavy like rain clouds. Takahiro gets the feeling that if he doesn’t tell Issei now, doesn’t tell him what he’s whispered into bitten sheets in the middle of the night with scarlet painted across his face, he’s never going to.

“I want to regret as few things as possible,” he starts, “so …” He gently nudges Issei’s hand away where it’s been hovering over a blank canvas of sand. He draws a little umbrella, then, next to the shaft, two vertical kanji. His name.

He glances at Issei, trying to read the emotions behind those ocean eyes. “I wasn’t honest with you,” he says. Opposite his own name, he writes Issei’s. He takes a deep breath. “I like you. Pretty stupid, huh?”

“Yeah,” Issei says, lip twitching, “cause you forgot something.” He reaches for Takahiro’s hand, holding him by his wrist. “Point your finger.” Takahiro does, too dumbfounded to protest. He watches with wide eyes as Issei guides his index finger over the sand, and it only takes a second before he’s done. The little heart on top of the umbrella is crooked, but it’s unmistakably a heart.

“There,” Issei says.

Takahiro finds his voice, heart pounding. “What kind of answer is that supposed to be?”

“You’re so dense,” Issei says as he leans over, his hand slipping into Takahiro’s, and kisses his cheek, a touch so fleeting he wonders if it even happened.

“I like you too, dumbass,” Issei whispers, fingers squeezing slightly. “I kinda guessed these feelings might be mutual, but I couldn’t be sure of course. We’ve always been close, so I thought I was just misinterpreting things. I was terrified of telling you, honest to god. Damn. Wow.” Issei touches his free hand to his chest, grin wide on his lips.

“Why did we wait so long?” Takahiro sighs, mesmerized by the way Issei bites his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth a little before releasing it.

“Maybe because we’re both idiots.”

“Probably.”

“Definitely.”

Takahiro squeezes Issei’s hand a little harder. “While we’re having this heart to heart, you wanna watch the stars or something? Isn’t that considered romantic?” he asks, the tips of his ears feeling hot.

Issei smiles. “Okay.”

 

They lie down in the sand, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, their fingers twined between them. The vast expanse of the sky makes for a breathtaking view, but before long, Takahiro’s eyes come back down to gaze at the boy next to him.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to watch the stars or something?” Issei’s tone is playful.

“What if I told you that they don’t even compare to you?”

“I’d smack you upside the head because that’s some Iwaizumi Hajime style shit to say.”

Takahiro giggles. Issei’s face goes soft, and he turns a little to face him directly.

“How are we gonna do this?” he asks, his breath tickling Takahiro’s nose. “Won’t you get tired of having five hundred kilometers between us?”

“This isn’t the Stone Age, though. There’s an invention called “The Internet”, you know?”

“So you’re not worried?”

“I’m not,” Takahiro says, realizing he means it, too, “I believe this is gonna work out just fine.”

“Ever the optimist,” Issei replies.

“Naturally.”

They gaze at each other for a long time, dopey smiles on both of their faces, and Takahiro feels the tension building up for something he’s seen on TV countless times, and yet, when Issei gently cups the side of his face with one hand and leans in, his heart jumps right into his throat. His eyes flutter shut, and before he knows it, they’re kissing.

Issei’s lips are soft and careful, making Takahiro want to get closer and find out what it feels like to trace them with his fingertips. He sighs softly, and as he does he lets go of his regrets, because when it comes to Issei there’s nothing to regret.

The kiss ends too soon, but Takahiro doesn’t mind. They’ll have time for many more. For now he’s content to watch the stars and the waves with Issei’s arms wrapped around him.

They spend most of the night pointing out little clusters of stars and giving them cheesy names, time flying faster than the wind.

 

As the shadows grow weaker and the stars begin to disappear, Takahiro pokes Issei’s chest.

“If you tell Hajime and Tooru about this I’m breaking up with you first thing in the morning, just so you know. They’ll never let us live it down, I just know.”

Issei raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t it already morning though?” He points at the horizon where rays of color paint it pink and purple.

“Shoot,” Takahiro says, grinning, “looks like I’m too late.”

“Nope,” Issei says, eyes smiling. The light of the rising sun reflects in his eyes before he leans in close to whisper in Takahiro’s ear. 

“You were right on time.”

 


	10. Mar. 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is very short and very sad. Post ep 25.

 

The bus ride home is spent in heavy silence. The first years sniffle quietly, the second years whisper promises of revenge to each other. Oikawa and Iwaizumi are quiet, hands balled into fists in their laps, eyes red rimmed and puffy. A trickle of blood runs down Iwaizumi’s lip, but he doesn’t do anything to stop it. He needs to feel the piercing pain; a coping mechanism.

Hanamaki is slouched in his seat, his jacket hanging lifelessly off his shoulders. Glistening tear trails mark his face, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. Matsukawa’s heart pinches, feels like it’s being torn in two as his eyes refuse to leave the shaking body next to him. Hot tears spill from his burning eyes and roll down his cheeks, shoulders trembling with the weight of his own helplessness, the anger and frustration of losing again, _losing for good this time_ , and the wall he has so carefully built up around him cracks and crumbles when Hanamaki blinks at him and grits out a single, wretched word. “I-Issei—”

Right then, something inside of Matsukawa breaks. A convulsive sob rips from his throat when Hanamaki slings his arms around his neck and _lets go,_ crying into the collar of his shirt. All of his regrets and broken dreams — Matsukawa can feel them seep from his body like air drained of oxygen. In this moment there’s nothing he needs more than the reassurance of familiarity, so he gives in to blistering devastation. He buries his face in the juncture of Hanamaki’s jaw and neck and cries, wetting the soft skin there with tears.

He inhales the scent of sweat and salt and a smell that means home to him, a smell that eases some of the pain in his chest only to tear another hole into it the next moment. More hiccupping sobs tumble from his mouth, and Hanamaki’s grip on him tightens like he’s afraid he’ll lose him too if he doesn’t.

There’s nothing more either of them can do except holding each other, fingers crumpling aquamarine fabric, and _breathing_.

Around them, stifled cries erupt from all corners of the bus. This wound is going to take time to heal.


	11. Mar. 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is nsfw, Mattsun and Makki are idiots in love, and I'm gonna run.

 

“Shh, keep it down!” Matsukawa hisses, his breath shuddering out against Hanamaki’s naked shoulder. He grits his teeth, his hips twitching forward of their own accord. It’s hard to feign annoyance when all he wants is for Hanamaki to scream his name while he drives him over the edge.

Hanamaki gives a winded laugh. “This is your fault,” he gasps, and Matsukawa is about to protest because it was _him_ who walked Matsukawa against the wall and started teasing his shirt off in the middle of a family get together, but right then Hanamaki grinds back against him, taking him deeper, and a breathless moan escapes him instead.

“You think they noticed we’re missing?” Hanamaki asks, rocking needily against him. It’s Matsukawa’s turn to laugh.

“With you making noise like that, the entire street knows we’re missing.”

“Oh, good,” Hanamaki says, “I want everyone to know how well you d— ah–”  
Matsukawa grips Hanamaki’s hips a little harder, shutting him up with sharp, powerful thrusts, and the throaty groan leaving his lips goes under Matsukawa’s skin, leaving him aching for more.

“Fuck, Issei,” Hanamaki rasps, his head rolling back onto his shoulder, the flush of his cheeks just barely visible in the dusty light.

Subdued conversation and the clinking of glasses filter through the closed but unlocked bathroom door, sending thrills of excitement through Matsukawa’s system. The danger of getting caught spurs him on, his breaths coming in quick succession.

He presses his nose into the short hair at Hanamaki’s nape, inhaling a heady scent mix of sweat, cologne, and the distinct smell of sex. Heart beating erratically against his sternum, Matsukawa lets one of his hands trail down his side until he reaches his thigh. He hitches his leg up ever so slightly, changing his angle only by millimeters, but the effect is immediate.

Hanamaki gives a loud, keening whimper, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Matsukawa’s wrists, but he fails.

“Issei,” he whines, “I wanna— ah— wanna see your face—”

Matsukawa’s pulse spikes; pictures, _memories_ pop up behind his eyelids, of his boyfriend’s face, lips red-bitten and parted wide on a moan, and he pulls out (Hanamaki whimpers) and turns him over so they’re nose to nose.

Hanamaki’s eyes are lidded, his pupils blown, his gaze hungry.  
Their lips collide, Hanamaki’s arms wrapping around Matsukawa’s neck and pulling him in, one of his legs winding around his hip. The slick heat of Hanamaki’s cock rubbing against his own makes him a little dizzy, a little more desperate.

“Hiro, Hiro, _Hiro_ ,” he gasps again and again, between kisses, teeth catching on lips.

“That’s my name,” Hanamaki retorts, and Matsukawa chokes on a laugh, but it’s stifled almost instantly when they kiss again. 

“You’re so terrible. I love you.”

He feels Hanamaki’s lips spread into a smile; then, a teasing finger under his chin. “The counter…”

“Cumming right up.”

Hanamaki blinks. “ _Fuck_.”

“Exactly.” A smirk cuts across Matsukawa’s face.

Hanamaki smacks Matsukawa’s arm, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Issei, I swear.”

Matsukawa grins, touching his forehead to Hanamaki’s. A sigh falls from Hanamaki’s lips, half-amused, half-impatient.

“You knew what you were in for all those years ago,” Matsukawa says, thumbing the slit of Hanamaki’s cock, flicking it a little and enjoying the palpable shivers running through him.

“I know,” Hanamaki says, hips jerking. “Issei, _please_. Fuck me.”

Matsukawa kisses him deeply for a long moment before he pulls back, smiling devilishly. In front of him, a panting mess, Hanamaki arches his back, sweat collecting in the dip of his collar bone. He’s perfect, Matsukawa thinks, all flaws and strong points included, his sense of humor, his cute habit of twiddling his thumbs when he’s nervous, the feel of his lips — and when Matsukawa picks him up to carry him across the room, he feels himself falling a little more in love.

“How can I say no to that?”

 


	12. Apr. 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight nsfw? Slight nsfw.

 

Summer has been Issei’s favorite season for as long as he remembers, but it isn’t until the summer after high school that he decides that his favorite part of the hot season is all the naked skin on display. Not just any skin, though. In fact, he doesn’t recall ever paying anyone mind for longer than the duration of a curious glance before _he_ came along. He who crashed his world with his hands in his pants and his heart on his sleeve. He who leaned into him on their way home from club activities, who invited him for sleepovers when they were supposed to be studying. His best friend who pressed a sleepy kiss to Issei’s lips when they woke up one morning, tangled on the couch, just like that.

Maybe it’s not the skin thing at all. It’s him. The best part of that summer is that he gets to spend it with him.

When they first start a relationship, they tell each other they’d take it slow, that they have all the time in the world. To see how things develop. To get to know each other more, get to know _themselves_ more.  
Issei thinks there were some rules, promises, scribbled on the back of his timer, but he also thinks they’ve broken every single one of them. Issei has no regrets, though, not with the way he gets to wake up every day now, with an arm draped over his chest and Takahiro drooling on his sheets. He wouldn’t give that up for anything.

The first time someone approaches Takahiro about a dark red mark just below his ear, Issei melts into the floor in embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to put it there, it just happened somehow. He thinks back to the previous evening, how his best friend’s skin had felt on his tongue, and he melts some more.

The second time is only half as bad, but it still irritates Issei. The guy who asks about the little bite mark on Takahiro’s shoulder must be about their age, and the way he raises one eyebrow is enough to show he knows exactly what it is. What irritates him isn’t the question itself, but the comment that follows. “Your girl’s pretty possessive, huh?”

While the first two times are accidents, the third time is absolutely not. Something’s different in Takahiro’s eyes when they go to bed that night, and it stokes a fire in Issei’s bloodstream that doesn’t burn out before the stars fade to black.  
The next morning, Takahiro’s neck is covered in bruises and love bites, galaxies of red and purple and blue, and he’s fucking beautiful.

So maybe it does come around to the skin thing in the end, because Issei would be lying if he claimed he didn’t enjoy watching his boyfriend flaunt kiss marks and scratches alike, half hidden by tank tops and jeans shorts, accompanied by grins so wide he thinks his lips may split. He wears them like Olympic medals.

That aside, Issei loves the little secrets they share, too. The softness of tracing a set of fingerprints on Takahiro’s hip, the fresh kiss mark on his inner thigh. Maybe those are his favorites, because no one else gets to see them. Because they’re reserved for him and him alone to view—or maybe because he put them there when he heard the words “I love you” from Takahiro’s lips for the first time.

 


	13. May 09

 

“Okay, which anniversary did I forget this time?” Hanamaki laments as he takes in the mountain of little delicacies on the kitchen table. Matsukawa ushers him closer without answering, but he can already tell he’s out for praise. “Are those _roses_? Issei, are you really doing this to me?”  
Hanamaki sighs. It’s too early for this. It’s a sunny Saturday morning, and he curses himself for letting his boyfriend lure him out here under the pretense of ‘a really cool surprise’. Hanamaki’s idea of a really cool surprise is being able to sleep for another two hours or so.

Matsukawa’s still standing behind him, and he leans down to whisper in his ear. If only he wasn’t this cute in the morning. “Have a guess?”

Great. “Well, it’s May, so it’s not our getting together anniversary,” Hanamaki muses aloud, but that’s about all he has to offer. “Give me a hint,” he pleads, hiding a yawn behind his hand. Can’t his boyfriend torture him at a more reasonable time of day?

Matsukawa seems to consider this for a moment. “We haven’t celebrated it before,” he says eventually.

Hanamaki squints. “First kiss?”

“Nope. That was back in March.”

Hanamaki wishes Matsukawa would stop remembering these embarrassing dates and start remembering the due dates of their work assignments instead.

“First time we had sex?”

Matsukawa snorts. “We’ve definitely celebrated that one before. You called it our sexyversary last year.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Hanamaki laughs, “our first holidays together?”

“Nope.”

“First time holding hands?”

“Negative.”

“First date?”

“Wrong again.”

Hanamaki frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s starting to run out of ideas.

“What about the first time I told you to fuck off?”

“Nope, but remind me to pencil that in for October 22.”

“Seriously?” Hanamaki groans.

Matsukawa laughs at that. “Just kidding. Come on, try a little harder.”

“Issei, you know I suck at this. That’s why you’re the one responsible for remembering to pay the bills.”

Matsukawa slings his arms around Hanamaki’s naked waist and kisses his neck. He’s warm against him, a cozy kind of heat that makes him want to drag him back to bed for an extensive cuddling session.

“Mmh… first time we said ‘I love you’?” he mumbles, leaning into Matsukawa’s chest.

“No,” Matsukawa whispers, lips brushing the shell of Hanamaki’s ear, “even though I really like that one.”

“Come on, tell me already. Meaniekawa Issei.”

Warm breath tickles Hanamaki’s neck as Matsukawa gives a soft chuckle, and it sends shivers down his spine.

“Okay, fine,” he says, taking Hanamaki’s hands. He inhales deeply, like he’s preparing for something, and Hanamaki can feel his heart race, like he’s _nervous_. There’s a long, tense moment of silence, a light squeeze of fingers. And then Matsukawa turns him around and asks him a question that has him feeling wide awake in a matter of seconds. He doesn’t even have to finish it for Hanamaki to know he’ll never forget this anniversary.

“'Hiro, do you think today would be a good date to celebrate our engagement in the future?”

 


	14. May 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nsfw-ish. If this had a title, it'd be **Deal**.

 

All night, Hanamaki can only think of one thing.

He keeps his head up, biting the inside of his cheek and keeping his legs crossed under the table. Nodding along while the men in business suits talk about numbers and money, mostly money in numbers, and numbers concerning money.  
He should fit right in, all dressed up in his own suit and tie, with a heavy suitcase resting beneath his chair, but he feels like there might be bright red neon signs pointing at him, the words, _‘Someone’s got it bad!’_ blinking mischievously into the night. Except there are no signs, or else Matsukawa would have long noticed how he’s been mentally undressing him.

They’ve been partners for as long as Hanamaki remembers, they went to school together, then university, and now they’re working for the same company. He should be immune to this, shouldn’t be fidgeting in his seat at the thought of threading his fingers through unusually neat, slicked back hair, pulling on it, and God forbid he imagine the sounds Matsukawa might make if he—

“Hanamaki-san, you’ve been awfully quiet. Are you feeling alright?”

Hanamaki jumps to attention. “Yes! I’m great!” His fingers start rearranging the three pens on the table by size, shuffling them again, repeating. “I just had a little bit too much to drink.”

Sawamura, one of the representatives of the company they’re hoping to make a deal with, looks concerned by this statement. Hanamaki’s glass has been empty for a while, and all he’s had in the last hour was a gulp of sparkly wine.

“I think I’m going to use the bathroom,” he says weakly, hoping that a splash of cold water to the face will do him good. He makes a beeline for it before any of the others can ask.

The coolness of the tap water does help to some extent, but it’s only battling the symptoms, not the cause. His mind’s still running, and he can splash himself all he wants, he won’t wash Matsukawa’s hotness away. He’s bracing himself on the counter, staring blankly at his fingers curling around its edges, when the door swings open. _Not now, please, anyone but him._

Matsukawa’s voice is a low rumble, amplified by the tiled walls. “What’s up with you today?” he asks, his tone light, teasing. He has no clue, the poor dude.

“Just some pent-up energy, is all.” That’s not exactly a lie. Hanamaki can see his friend’s reflection in the mirror, all effortless chic, and it frustrates him _. Who gave him the fucking right. I want to fucking jump him._

He doesn’t fucking jump him. He turns around though, hoping he isn’t as obviously blushing as he suspects his is. Matsukawa might not be the smartest guy out there, but he will recognize a blush of embarrassment when he sees one.

“Pent-up, huh?” Matsukawa’s lips curl into a smirk, and Hanamaki knows that he’s done for. “See anyone who piqued your interest? That Sawamura guy maybe?”

_You’ve got it all wrong_ , Hanamaki doesn’t say. He lets out a groan instead, imagining how a turn of the tap might transport him to the Chamber of Secrets Your Best Friend Must Never Discover. He shakes his head. 

Matsukawa watches him for a moment, his eyes bright and observant and lingering, and it makes Hanamaki’s skin tingle. “I can’t really concentrate on this deal either,” Matsukawa says. “I keep getting distracted by the stupidest things, it’s real inconvenient.”

“Like what?” Hanamaki rasps, trying not to stare at the way Matsukawa’s front teeth sink into his bottom lip. He fails. Spectacularly.

“Like, some of us can’t seem to stop playing with their stationery for instance. That kind of shit used to drive me nuts back in school. Click that pen one more time and I’m outta there. And then there’s this thing that some people do when they can’t sit still, they keep kicking at other people’s feet. That is some distracting shit right there.”

“Oh,” Hanamaki says. “Funny you should say that. ‘Cause what really gets me going is when people wear clothes that fit them a little too well, y’know. Real distracting.”

Matsukawa licks his lips. “Interesting. What about this weird habit of stuffing your hands down your pants even if they have pockets?”

“Hey, that’s unfair! That’s obviously supposed to be me!” Hanamaki fakes a pout.

“Never said it was you, did I?” 

That _asshole._ “Well, what about performing some kind of magic trick to make your hair look like it came right out of a shampoo commercial? Not saying it’s you of course.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Matsukawa takes a step closer. “You ever see a guy mentally undressing you, though? That sure is something else. Again, no accusations here.”

Hanamaki gulps, his heart beating faster. Matsukawa’s so close now, only a step away. “I don’t know, that sounds pretty hot to me? But you know what’s even worse?”

“What is?” Hanamaki can taste Matsukawa’s breath on his lips now, and a little bit of the liquor he had.

“When people bite their lips in this really seductive way, you know… just like… you’re doing right now…”

Matsukawa’s eyes flicker like black flames. “No accusations, right?”

“I don’t know. Maybe some level of accusation.” Hanamaki’s voice is barely more than a strained whisper, and he’s hot all over, his pants too tight for comfort and his throat dry. He holds eye contact with Matsukawa, following the fires dancing behind his irises. It’s the feel of a heavy, warm hand on his hip that gives him the final push.

“Oh fuck it,” they mouth at the same time, and then there are lips on lips, and an explosion of sensation as knees find their way between thighs, and hands grab at clothes and hair, and Hanamaki’s head is positively spinning. He’s drunk on Matsukawa’s kisses, on the movement of his hips grinding against his. 

“What are we doing?” he gasps, teeth grazing Matsukawa’s lips.

“Shit if I know,” Matsukawa says, fingers digging into Hanamaki’s waist as he pulls him closer. “Something we should’ve done ages ago.”

“Agreed. But, ah—” Hanamaki sucks in a sharp breath as Matsukawa kisses him again, hard, and it leaves him blissfully breathless. 

They pull apart for air after what feels like a decade, which at the same time doesn’t pass for nearly long enough.   
There’s a short moment of awkward silence, maybe two blinks of an eye, before both of them crack up laughing, laughing freely until there are tears running down Hanamaki’s flushed cheeks and a hiccup makes its presence known. His heart keeps stuttering and he feels like he’s floating, even more so when Matsukawa takes both of his hands.

“As much as I’d like to elaborate on this interesting _conversation_ we were having,” he says, “there’s a meeting to be had. I know, just our luck, right?” He smiles, his own chest still heaving. “But we can always continue this after that contract is signed. Deal?”

Hanamaki licks his lips and tips his hips forward once more. He steals one last first kiss, turning Matsukawa away from the mirror to make sure he can’t see the mess he’s made of his perfect hair. Finally, he gives him an over-the-top wink, but it doubles as an honest promise. “Deal.”

 


	15. May 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The usual.

 

Hanamaki drapes himself over Matsukawa’s thighs with a long, fake sigh.   
“I’m _such_ a failure,” he moans, “my name’s Issei, and I’ve been moping for two hours because I couldn’t block a stupid spike.” He juts out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

Matsukawa remains silent, biting his tongue. There are words forming in the back of his throat, but he swallows them back down.

Hanamaki continues. “I refuse to acknowledge all the points I scored because I get hung up on super irrelevant details. Boohoo.” He sniffs, rubbing at his eyes as though he were tearing up. “I haven’t looked in a mirror in five years—”

“Hey, I _have_ —”

“I haven’t looked in a mirror in five years because I don’t wanna see how great I am, inside and out. I like to wallow in self pity because some random chick told me my uniform doesn’t suit me although I don’t even know her. Oh, if only someone could put me out of this misery!” Hanamaki goes limp on Matsukawa’s lap, one hand tipped dramatically against his forehead.

Despite the crappy day he’s had, Matsukawa feels his lips quirk into a hint of a smile. Hanamaki tends to have that effect on him.

“Get off, you’re heavy,” he says, not really meaning it.

“Not until you admit that I’m right.” Hanamaki gets up and plops down onto Matsukawa’s lap again, facing him.

“Right about what exactly?”

Hanamaki sighs, but then warm hands cup Matsukawa’s cheeks as he leans in close, gray eyes softening. “You’re amazing, you know that? A little bit of a dick sometimes, yeah, but you’re also funny and clever and handsome, and you’re really good at volleyball, okay?”

Matsukawa’s smile widens. Hanamaki’s weight in his lap and the warmth of his skin make his words sound genuine. He runs a hand along Hanamaki’s back, mumbling, “Okay, but what about my taste in boyfriends? I feel like that deserves a mention, ‘cause I’m pretty sure that it’s excellent.”

Hanamaki giggles, and the way their lips brush as he does makes it hard not to join in. Matsukawa closes the distance between them for a soft kiss, his hands comfortable on Hanamaki’s hips. “Thanks,” he breathes when he pulls back.

“Don’t mention it,” Hanamaki says, “just doin’ my job, you know, boyfriend duties and such.”

Matsukawa laughs, pulling Hanamaki in to kiss him again, thinking that maybe his day wasn’t that bad at all.

 


	16. Jun. 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super short, super sweet. Pre-relationship.

“Will you ever put that down?” Hanamaki asks, glaring at the tattered book clasped in Matsukawa’s hands. He’s read this one a million times, Hanamaki’s sure.

“Are you jealous of a _book_?” Matsukawa counters, licking his thumb before he flips the page, never looking up. “To be honest, if I had to choose between you and this book, well…”

“Wow, rude,” Hanamaki huffs. “What’s so great about it in the first place?” He sits down next to him on his bed, trying to peek inside the book.

He can hear Matsukawa smile when he answers, “I couldn’t put it into words even if I tried, I could never do it justice.” He gives Hanamaki’s sleeve a gentle tug, pulling him closer. “I could read to you, though, if you want?”

“How generous.” Despite himself, Hanamaki inches closer, nudging Matsukawa’s arm, and Matsukawa allows him to sit down between his legs so his back rests comfortably against his chest.

When he starts reading, his voice comes out warm and steady. Hanamaki feels every intake of breath, every vibration of his chest as he pronounces syllables, words, sentences. Soon, Hanamaki isn’t even paying attention to what he’s actually saying, he’s just listening to the up and down of Matsukawa’s voice, enjoying the proximity. Soft tingles run down his back, and he sinks into the warmth that is his best friend, breathing in the scent of dusty pages and warm cotton.  
His eyes fall closed and the words blur into one single stream of calming sound around him, lulling him to sleep better than any lullaby could.  
There’s always been something about Matsukawa that gives him a kind of comfort and a sense of safety. He can’t really place it yet, but just having it there is enough for the moment.

Hanamaki is fast asleep when Matsukawa closes his book and puts it on his bedside table to get ready for bed. The feather light brush of lips against Hanamaki’s neck goes unnoticed, as do the blankets draped over him before Matsukawa tiptoes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. If there’s a smile on his face, no one has to know.


	17. Jun. 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once more, a really tiny one. Fantasy/magic setting kind of.

Matsukawa’s hands are shaking as he meets Hanamaki’s eyes, the determination in them sending chills down his spine. His heart is pounding out of rhythm, but Hanamaki looks as calm as ever. He holds the glass phial between his thumb and index finger, swirling it around to watch the golden liquid move with curiosity.

“Are you really sure you want this?” Matsukawa asks once again. “Eternity is … a long time.”

Hanamaki directs his gaze back at him, stare hardening. “If this means I get to spend all of my tomorrows with you, then yes.”

“This isn’t the time to be romantic. This potion will make you immortal. You’ll watch all of your family die.”

“Won’t I, anyway?”

“Takahiro.” Matsukawa’s expression is stern as he reaches for Hanamaki’s free hand, his thumb stroking over the back of it. “If you’re doing this for my sake, I don’t want you to do it.”

Hanamaki shakes his head, smiling. “You’ve got it all wrong, Issei. I’m so freaking selfish, okay? I don’t want to have to let go of you—I don’t think I can. I want this for me; for us.” Hanamaki flicks off the stopper, sending it flying to the floor. He brings the phial to his lips without batting an eye.

Matsukawa’s heart skips a beat or five. “Are. You. Sure.”

Hanamaki pauses, lowering the hand holding the potion. He leans over, touching his forehead to Matsukawa’s. “Honestly, just think of all the pranks we’ll be able to play on people. And shit, you really want me to pass up the opportunity to tease Oikawa about his old man face when we’ll still be twenty-five?”

Matsukawa laughs quietly. Hanamaki’s always finding the right words to lighten the mood. “If you say it like that, it doesn’t sound half bad.”

“See?” Hanamaki’s smile brightens, and Matsukawa closes the distance between them to kiss him, quick and fleeting. As Hanamaki lifts the phial to his mouth once more, Matsukawa thinks of kissing him again, just to prolong the moment, but he doesn’t.

Because, when he watches Hanamaki down all of the potion in one gulp, it dawns on him that from now on, they’ll have all the time in the world. In every sense of the word.


	18. Sep. 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First fights are never fun.

 

This isn’t happening.

This _can’t_ be happening.

Oh, but it _is_. If it wasn’t the shouting and crying, it’s the slam of the door that seals it. Issei winces, glass splinters digging into the soles of his slippers before he is, truly and painfully, alone in the empty hallway. It’s dark, just after sunset, all the lights turned off. Maybe that’s a good thing. This way, old Miss Yamazaki from across the hall won’t notice the redness around Issei’s eyes when she makes her trek to the wash house to collect her laundry. Issei chokes out a noise of frustration, anger, hurt—

It wasn’t meant to happen like this. It wasn’t meant to happen at all, but Issei knew that he and Takahiro would fight at some point in their relationship. He just hadn’t expected it to be so soon after moving in together, and just before their anniversary too.

“ _You’re stoic and disinterested and stuck-up! You don’t even care about me, Issei!”_

“ _Well, you’re a fucking pain in the ass with your meeting-new-people-and-staying-social act! Are you scared I’ll hold you back? Just go to that party without me and see if I care!”_

Takahiro’s insults still sting, especially now that Issei’s own traitorous brain is playing them on repeat. He feels guilty for some of the things he threw at him in return, but mostly, he’s just really, really sad. He hates arguments, avoids them like the plague whenever he can, but maybe that’s part of why this one escalated as badly as it did.

Issei doesn’t know how to handle situations like this one. He’s witnessed Tooru and Hajime not speak to each other for days at a time, and still, this feels a hundred times worse somehow. Helplessly, he sits himself down on the stairs, a single tear leaking from itchy eyes. Is this it? Are they going to break up? The thought alone is enough to make Issei’s heart squeeze and his vision blur entirely with fresh tears. _I’m not good enough_ , shoots through Issei’s head, _he’s always deserved someone so much better._

It’s quiet in the hall, no sounds from the apartment. Takahiro’s probably made his exit down the fire escape like he usually does when he needs a breather. In an attempt at calming himself down, Issei takes slow, hitching breaths, seven seconds in, seven seconds out, one at a time. He’s so immersed in his little breathing exercise that he almost misses the quiet click of the door and the soft, barely there whisper of his given name.

“Issei?” Takahiro’s voice sounds strained, laced with something that can only be classified as remorse. “Hey …” Carefully, Takahiro lowers himself onto the step below Issei’s, taking a moment to collect himself. When he finally looks Issei in the eyes, his own are so full of regret that Issei wishes he hadn’t looked. _Foreign territory._

“Issei, I’m so sorry,” Takahiro murmurs, “I said some terrible things to you, even though I swore to myself I would never do anything to hurt you, but I _did_ , and I’m so so sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to force you to do things you didn’t want to do, I understand that fully now. Fuck—” he breaks off, rubbing a sleeved hand over his eyes, “I’m— I—”

“No, _I_ should’ve tried to understand _you_ more,” Issei chokes out, blinking to keep his vision clear, “I’m a selfish asshole, I don’t deserve you, Takahiro—”

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear you say that ever again,” Takahiro says, sniffling. He makes to wipe at his eyes again, but Issei beats him to it, smoothing his thumbs along Takahiro’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I said a lot of things I didn’t even mean. I just— I let little things pile up and I exploded. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Issei.” Takahiro touches his forehead to his, arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders. “New rule. Whenever one of us feels like something’s unfair or even if it’s just a stray sock that pisses you off, please tell me. Honestly.”

Issei smiles, even if it’s a little watery. “But you leave your socks all over the apartment _all_ the time.”

“See! That’s what I mean. Okay?”

“Okay,” Issei says, brushing a tiny kiss against Takahiro’s temple. “So you’re not mad anymore?”

Takahiro shakes his head. “I’m not mad.”

“You still wanna go to that party? I can be ready in like, five—”

“No, I have a better idea. Why don’t we call Tooru and Hajime over and have a good ol’ movie night? We used to do that all the time back in high school, but we haven’t gotten together like that in ages. What do you think?”

“I’d like that,” Issei says, truthfully.

“Awesome. Let me just …” Takahiro grabs his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his contacts. Across the floor, a door opens. Then the lights go on.

“Oh, what are you boys doing out here in the dark?” Miss Yamazaki asks, friendly wrinkles around her eyes. She has a blue plastic basket in her arms.

Issei glances at his boyfriend, tongue poking out of his mouth as he composes a message to their friends. He smiles. “Oh, you know, just having a little heart to heart.”

“How nice,” Miss Yamazaki says before starting her way down the stairs. Issei hears her mumble something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “young love”.

He thinks about saying something snarky in return, but just this once he lets it be. It has kind of a nice ring to it.

 


End file.
